by Steven Bird
“What about access to the anti-viral treatment drugs? Does that stop as soon as we cross out of their controlled area?” I asked, wondering how people in the area could still be alive without them.
“Remember, not everyone out there is infected,” he explained. “The ones who keep to themselves, avoiding contact with others. That makes them dangerous to you and me. They’d just as soon shoot us as look at us. They don’t want to be infected, and they’ll do whatever it takes to avoid contact. The ones who are infected are either dying or have found a way to be useful to the OWA.
“The OWA does have a few locations scattered around the country where the drug is available. They don’t really care about the well-being of the folks lucky enough to receive treatment, they just want the OWA to continue to be seen by the unwashed masses as the great savior. The things that you and I are both aware of aren’t necessarily common knowledge.”
Looking up into the sky, Ronnie said, “There’s a drone right there.”
Seeing an ODF marked patrol SUV up ahead sitting on the shoulder of the oncoming lane, I pointed and asked, “What do you think?”
Looking the vehicle over and thinking about it for a brief moment, Ronnie declared, “Could be something… Could be nothing. We’ll find out soon, I guess.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling,” I declared as my heart began to race.
“Turn left, there,” Ronnie urged, pointing toward Summit Drive which led into a quaint, suburban neighborhood. “If something’s up, we’ll find out and maybe keep a little distance between him and us in the meantime.”
Turning off of Lee Highway and onto Summit Drive, Ronnie watched the patrol vehicle as he held his CX91 carbine across his lap.
“What’s he doing?” I impatiently asked.
“Nothing just yet.”
I looked straight ahead as I drove, watching for threats up ahead while Ronnie kept his eye on the patrol vehicle that was now behind us and to our right.
“Ah, hell,” he grumbled. “He’s on the move. Something’s up.”
“Damn it!” I growled as I hit the steering wheel with my fist. “I knew this had all gone too easily so far. The other shoe had to drop eventually.”
“It’s okay. Just keep driving like normal,” Ronnie said in a calming voice.
My heart raced, and my palms began to sweat, “Well?”
“He’s going on by,” Ronnie said with relief in his voice.
As I began to relax, he said, “No… wait. Shit. He stopped. He’s backing up. Damn it. He’s coming.”
“Lights! Damn it! Drive, Joe! Drive!” Ronnie shouted as the patrol vehicle’s lights began flashing, and the siren began whaling.
I shoved the accelerator to the floor as the anemic little four-cylinder…well, it didn’t do much. Downshifting, I bounced the engine of the little truck off the tach’s redline as we sped through the neighborhood with the patrol vehicle gaining on us rapidly.
“Go, Joe! Go!” he again shouted.
“I am, Ronnie! That’s all this thing’s got!”
Rounding the bend to the right, I got a view of the rest of the road, and my heart sank when I realized it went right back to where we had started. “It’s a damn loop!”
Seeing another ODF vehicle enter Summit Drive up ahead, I realized they had us trapped. Thinking quickly, I reached down and pulled the truck’s transfer case shifter into four-wheel high and yanked the wheel hard to the right, flooring the accelerator and crashing through one of the many decorative white picket fences that adorned the quaint little neighborhood that once represented a Norman Rockwell style of Americana.
As I turned the truck ninety-degrees to the vehicle directly behind us, Joe raised his weapon and began firing out the passenger’s side window, sending a barrage of 6.2-millimeter rounds into the windshield of the pursuing vehicle. “It’s them or us!” he shouted, as if needing to justify his actions, perhaps feeling the guilt of opening fire on those who just this morning were seen as his brothers-in-arms.
As the SUV swerved off the road and crashed into a child’s swing set, it was clear his well-placed shots had reached their intended target.
With the other vehicle that was now to our left still in pursuit, I steered the truck toward the narrow gap between two of the cookie cutter houses, tearing through yet another fence as we went.
“We’re not gonna make it, Joe!” Ronnie shouted as we sped between the tight confines of the homes, breaking off the side-view mirrors as we narrowly maneuvered through the gap.
Clearing the houses, I immediately turned left, crashing through more decorative white picket fences and back onto the section of Summit Drive that we had used to enter the neighborhood.
As the second pursuing SUV attempted to follow us, the vehicle slammed itself between the two houses, crumpling the sheet metal of the fenders and doors as it wedged itself firmly in place, ending the pursuit.
“Hot damn, Joe!” Ronnie shouted as he slapped himself on the thigh in disbelief. “Talk about a square peg in a round hole! Nicely done. Nicely done, indeed,” he said with a smile as he pointed up ahead. “Now, let’s get the heck out of there and find us some new wheels. Every ODF officer out there will be looking for this truck a few minutes from now.”
“That way,” he said, pointing toward a side street on the right.
As I drove, Ronnie’s demeanor shifted from elation to regret. “I had to do it, Joe. You know that, right?”
Glancing over to him with a nod, I said, “Yeah, Ronnie. I know. If we were in their shoes, running with the information they had, we’d have put our lives on the line to stop the threat the same as they did. We’d have followed our orders, and the information we were given, to our graves if need be. We’ve all got a choice. They made their choice, and we made ours.”
“Yeah, I know, Joe. I know, but it still doesn’t make it feel any better. I mean, that officer could have been an outstanding guy. Many are.”
“He could have also been all in,” I reminded him, attempting to get his mind off of the death of the pursuing officer and back to the business at hand.
“There,” he said, pointing to a minivan parked on the side of the road. “Let me out here. I’ll meet you somewhere along the side of the street on down the road to transfer our gear and supplies. I don’t want to do it right here in front of the house where its owner likely resides.”
“How are you going to get it started?” I asked.
“I’ve got a few gadgets that’ll come in handy,” he assured me with a forced smile.
Stopping and letting him out as requested, I watched him approach the minivan through the rearview mirror as I drove away. Glancing over to the passenger seat, I noticed his special backpack was still in the floor. He sure must trust me, I thought.
Pulling over next to a cluster of trash cans, I parked underneath a poorly maintained willow tree whose uncontrolled growth had caused it to reach beyond the boundaries of the yard from which it grew, creating a nice visual cover from prying eyes in the sky. After taking a good look around, I shut the truck off and reached over and grabbed Ronnie’s pack. I then exited the vehicle and walked to the back of the truck, ready to begin transferring our supplies as soon as Ronnie arrived.
Within just a few minutes, I looked up to see the champagne-gold Dodge Caravan rounding the corner with Ronnie behind the wheel.
Pulling up alongside the Toyota, Ronnie popped the rear liftgate of the minivan and hopped out with the engine still running. “Let’s make this quick,” he said as we began transferring the plastic totes full of supplies and provisions that Ronnie’s pal had left in the truck for us.
Once it had all been transferred, Ronnie said, “You drive. You’ve done a bang-up job so far. There’s no reason to change things up now. Besides, my shoulder is starting to hurt like hell.”
Sitting down in the minivan and adjusting the driver’s seat, I noticed a cable running from underneath the dash and to a black box with a small keypad and an LCD display lyi
ng in the floor.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“That’s my key,” he said with a chuckle. “The new onboard diagnostics they were putting on these things had a few hidden features that the powers-that-be insisted be included by the manufacturers, all of which were kept quiet from the consumer, of course.”
“Of course,” I replied sarcastically.
“Big business and big government collusion goes way beyond the pharmaceutical industry,” he added. “For far too long, self-serving government officials had been forcing companies to go along to get along. The OWA’s tentacles are everywhere.”
“Doesn’t a car this new have satellite tracking?” I asked.
“I disabled that feature,” he replied. “The government wants to track you, but they don’t want to be tracked when running their own nefarious operations. Heck, I could use that magic box there to program the car to send false location signals, but that’s something they could home in on if they wanted. There is a signature to such things that they can detect. They don’t want to be fooled by their own con. No, I’d rather not transmit at all.”
“If they can home in on false location signals, what’s the point?” I asked.
“The point is, they want to be able to connect all the dots they want when setting someone up to take a fall, or to be ousted from office by something scandalous. They can plant a false breadcrumb trail, showing someone they aim to take down at the scene of some crime or compromising situation. They can tell it’s fake, but we can’t. If we sent a false location signal, it might throw the local ODF patrol officers off, but the ones who pull their strings could see right through it. You see, they need to be able to fool their own lower-level officers who’d be writing the reports and doing the footwork of the investigations. With not everyone being all in, their cons need to run deep.”
Shaking my head in disgust, I grumbled, “The more I learn, the more I feel like a fool for being a part of it all for as long as I was.”
“That’s why I picked you, Joe. You’re the real deal. That’s a quality that’s becoming harder and harder to find.”
After driving for what felt like the next half hour, we passed a sign that read, You are now leaving a level 2 secure zone. Travel from this point forward is at your own risk. Emergency services will not be provided.
“Well, here we go,” he said. “Off into the great unknown. You know, I’ve not been anywhere less than a level 2 secure zone since the outbreak began. Heck, most of the time, I’ve been comfortably inside a level 1 zone. I’ve definitely not been to anything even close to the no-go zone.”
The no-go zone was what the OWA called the areas outside of their immediate control. With such a drastic loss in populations around the world, they simply couldn’t adequately rule or control every square inch of it, so they chose to focus their resources in areas where the survivors who required their regular dose of Symbex could be easily cared for, monitored, and put to work.
Chuckling, I said, “Me, too. That’s sad, huh? We were safe and sound while everyone out here was suffering and dying. And at the hands of those who fed us and kept us safe.”
“What’s sad is that the world ever got to the tipping point in the first place, Joe. That blame rests on each and every one of us. It rests on every person who turned a blind eye to corruption in support of their own flavor of partisan politics, every person who voted for them, and every person who simply didn’t bother themselves with being more involved with the world around them. You and I couldn’t help where we were when it all started. We were in the belly of the beast from the get-go. The way you have to look at it is, our time serving the OWA kept us alive and got us prepared for the mission we’re on today. It put us where we needed to be, when we needed to be there. Don’t second guess your life. You’re doing the right thing now. That’s all that matters.”
I nodded, understanding what he’d said, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept. I had literally been serving the Empire as a stormtrooper. I was like that guy, FN-2187, or Fin, who had finally realized he was on the wrong team, and was now on the run, trying to earn his self-respect back. Now, all I needed to do was find the rebellion.
Chapter Six
Once we were past what remained of Warrenton, Virginia, everything began to look like a scene straight out of a post-apocalyptic film. Many of the homes appeared to have been burned to the ground, and the others looked simply abandoned. Did they burn the homes of the infected? Or was it more of the collapse of our once great and peaceful society that caused conflict on nearly every level, leaving formerly quaint and picturesque neighborhoods looking like a third-world war zone, or a scene from a zombie apocalypse film.
“It’s getting late,” Ronnie said. “We need to find a place to hunker down for the night and get some rest. Who knows what tomorrow, or any day ahead of us for that matter, will bring? We need to stay on our game the best we can.”
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
“There seems to be plenty of houses available. I’ve not seen signs of habitation in a few miles now. I saw chimney smoke from one place on the outskirts of Warrenton, but that’s about it. I’d say just about any of these homes that remain standing would fit the bill. Let’s find one with a garage so we can hide the van.”
“Good idea,” I said. “This thing will stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Tomorrow we’ll try to find something else. Something that blends in with the no-go zone a little better.”
Chuckling, I said, “Yeah, the soccer-mom minivan doesn’t quite go with the area. Something straight out of Mad Max would fit in a little better.”
“Turn here,” he said, gesturing toward a driveway off the right side of the road.
I could see that the driveway led to a small house nestled in the trees, with overgrown landscaping all around, providing us with a fair amount of natural visual cover.
Picking up his CX91, he added, “Hold up here. Let me check it out on foot, first. When I get out, get yourself turned around so if something goes sideways, you can get our precious cargo out of here.”
I brought the vehicle to a stop and Ronnie stepped out, holding his carbine at the low ready. Once he was clear, I began to maneuver the minivan to be in a position to get away in a hurry, as he had recommended. I watched as Ronnie carefully worked his way up the tree line toward the small, single-story home.
There were no signs of occupation, but that may be just what someone else wanted others to believe. The driveway was littered with clothes and other small items as if the house had been plundered and looted in the past. It looked as if everything had been laying out in the weather for quite some time, and from my vantage point, I could see that one of the main front windows in the home had been broken and had not been repaired. Surely, if someone was living there, they’d have covered that large hole up in some way, I reasoned.
I watched as Ronnie disappeared behind the home’ I guess he’s gonna use the back door, I thought as I picked up my own CX91 from the floor, placing it across my lap.
A few moments later, I saw the garage door begin to rise, followed by a view of Ronnie’s legs as he lifted it by hand. Once the door was raised, he waved me in, urging me to back the minivan inside.
Once the van was parked, I exited the vehicle, and Ronnie closed the roll-up garage door by hand, leaving the small windows in the door to be the only light source as the last rays of the day’s light shone through. The light illuminated a nebulous cloud of dust that swirled around the garage. The thick layer of dust that covered virtually everything had clearly not been disturbed in quite some time.
“This place will do,” he announced. “There aren’t any signs of recent activity, and the original occupants are clearly not with us anymore.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“Just don’t go in the bedroom on the left at the end of the hall.”
“Why?” I again asked. “What’s in there?”
“Just
take my word for it,” he urged.
Nodding, I joined him at the rear of the minivan as he began removing the plastic storage bins filled with our supplies. “Let’s take this stuff inside with us. We need to go through it all to see what we’ve got to work with.”
Entering the living room through the side door of the garage, Ronnie said, “Let’s put everything on the kitchen table. We can go through it there.”
I should have left well enough alone. But I felt as if there was some sort of a force, like a giant magnet, pulling me toward the room where Ronnie had advised me not to go. Maybe it was morbid curiosity? Maybe it was some childish feeling that I didn’t need Ronnie to shield or protect me from anything? Who knows? I just know it felt as if I couldn’t help myself. I felt like I had to see, whatever it was, with my own eyes.
As I began walking down the hallway toward the bedrooms, I looked at the family pictures hanging on the walls.
Somehow, even though the home had clearly been looted and ransacked, with what was at one time, someone’s personal possessions strewn about, the pictures on the walls remained untouched. Perhaps the looters weren’t the sort of looters one would think of, taking advantage of the vulnerable after a tragic event or disaster. Perhaps they were just like the rest of us, doing what they had to do to survive, and respected the memories in those photos.
The photos represented a snapshot in time when our relatively safe and modern society was, for the most part, sheltered from the hellish conditions some people faced around the world every day. The pictures contained what was clearly a loving family. There was a father, a mother, and two small children, a boy and a girl, that seemed to age before my eyes as I walked down the hallway. I could watch the children grow from infants to toddlers, and then to adolescents, by merely following the story the photographs seemed to tell so vividly.
Seeing the love and happiness on the faces of the children in the photos filled my mind with apprehension about satisfying my curiosity of what could be found in the room. At this point, I really didn’t want to see what was inside, but I felt as if that decision was being made for me. I was being pushed toward the room.
